Boots on dust. Flesh bone gristle.
Rubber on metal. Rubber on gravel.
Gravel on gravel.
Someone is in the basement making
gasoline bombs. Eating.

SU: Another amazing poem by Greg Daniels. As it happens, he and I grew up about 2 miles and 12 worlds apart back in Saskatchewan. Working on this project, I was like an awkward teenager because I was such a fan of Greg’s writing. Ahasiw picked up this and was entirely charmed – he even urged me to get Greg’s autograph. I told him to go fuck himself (Ahasiw, I mean).